


Fresh as the Bright Blue Sky

by Sue_Snell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Lap Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Panties, Undressing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7826836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sue_Snell/pseuds/Sue_Snell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean promised Cas he wouldn't let him die a virgin and he was gonna hold to that, even if he had to do it himself. But he'd never been big on popping cherries, so he figured they should try at least one more hooker first. The night may have started off weird, but it was about to get weirder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh as the Bright Blue Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Another kinkmeme-to-AO3 transfer. The [prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/103958.html?thread=39488534#t39488534) in its entirety reads: "My needs are simple: Castiel in panties." Seven words. There's a part of me that feels like the wordcount on this fic is embarrassingly large. The rest of me thinks that part of me is a very silly part of me.

“Where do we go now?”  
  
Dean shrugged as he started the Impala’s engine. Good question. To give Cas some kind of answer, he said, “We go find another hooker before word about you gets around town, _Cas_ anova.”  
  
“Are you sure that would be wise? I’ve already made one woman _very_ angry...”  
  
“Hey look, I _said_ I wasn’t gonna let you die a virgin, and I meant it, okay? So help me, I will do it _myself_ if I have to, but one way or another, this is happening.”  
  
Dean watched Cas out of the corner of his eye for a reaction to that proposal as they pulled onto the street, leaving the “den of iniquity” behind. If it freaked him out he could always play it off as a joke, but if he looked like he _liked_ the idea...  
  
Cas appeared neither turned on nor turned off by the notion, perfectly neutral. Fine, whatever, nevermind. Really, even if he’d been all for it Dean figured he’d get them a third anyway. Popping cherries wasn’t his cup of tea at the best of times—too much pressure—and Cas was a freaking _angel_. That was like virginity squared.  
  
As they rolled aimlessly down the streets and around likely-looking corners Dean added, “Look, this time I’ll stick around long enough to make sure you don’t say anything that gets you in trouble, alright? You just gotta follow my lead.”  
  
“Understood,” Cas replied in a tone conveying no understanding.  
  
“Alright...” Dean muttered, finally spotting a prospective second chance for Cas loitering languidly on a nearby corner. Knee-high stiletto-heeled boots, a top that barely covered her bra and a matching miniskirt even though it was chilly out, he probably wasn’t jumping to the wrong conclusion here... He slowed the car down and she turned to watch them with an inviting grin. She had bright red hair in a pixie cut, a smattering of freckles, and _really_ thick eyeliner. Friendly enough face, left him with a good feeling about her. Definitely worth a shot. He pulled the Impala up to the curb, telling Cas, “Okay, roll down the window, and let me do all the talking, got it?”  
  
Cas nodded and cranked the window handle. The girl walked up to them eagerly.  
  
“Hey there, cuties. Nice car. Looking for a party?”  
  
“Yeah, hey, thanks. I’m Dean, and this is my buddy Cas. Today’s his birthday, and—”  
  
“Why would you think today is my ‘birthday’?”  
  
Dean sighed and tried to ignore the working girl’s giggle.  
  
“Remember that time I told you to let me do all the talking? About ten seconds ago? Good times.”  
  
“Aw,” said the girl, leaning on the edge of the window and catching Cas’s eye, “Don’t let him give you a hard time, handsome. I’m not the discount type anyway.”  
  
“Can’t blame a guy for tryin’,” said Dean. He put the car in park and killed the engine. “Y’know what? Cas here doesn’t know how to talk to pretty girls, do you Cas?”  
  
Cas shook his head uncertainly while Dean climbed out of the car.  
  
“So how about _you_ just wait here,” he told Cas before slamming the door and looking to the girl, “And you and me talk?”  
  
“Alright.” The hooker straightened up. Glancing down at Cas, she said, “Promise you won’t go wandering off on me?”  
  
“You have my word,” he replied heavily. She giggled.  
  
“I think I’m gonna like you a _lot_ , Cas,” she announced, “I’m Nadia, by the way.”  
  
“Well, I bet you’d like him even more if he was the one with the cash,” said Dean, “ _But_ he ain’t. C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

They went half a block down the sidewalk, stopping once Dean figured they were out of Cas’s listening range.  
  
“So what’s Cas getting for his ‘birthday’?” Nadia asked.  
  
“Okay, look,” Dean started, “This is gonna be his first time, you see...”  
  
“Wow, really? Him?” Nadia glanced back at the Impala. “Huh.” She shrugged and nodded for Dean to continue.  
  
“...and, well, I don’t wanna freak you out or anything, but Cas has got some... backstory to him that might make things a little weird, y’know?”  
  
“‘Backstory’?”  
  
“Grew up in this _super_ -religious household, with like, a million brothers and sisters, all homeschooled, really cult-like kinda feel to the place? That kinda thing?”  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” said Nadia, “How ‘religious’ we talking here? Dad from _Footloose_ bad or mom from _Carrie_ bad?”  
  
Dean laughed.  
  
“Definitely a Stephen King vibe there.”  
  
“This might be out of my league...” was what Nadia’s voice said, but her eyes said, _“This is gonna cost you extra.”_  
  
“I’ll make it worth your while, okay?” said Dean. Warming to his fake history, he added, “I mean, c’mon, _someone’s_ gotta give the poor guy a break. He _deserves_ it after all that crap he had to deal with. He got himself out of there. He _survived_. Now it’s time for him to _live_ , y’know?”  
  
Nadia couldn’t repress a smile at the cheesy line. Dean grinned back.  
  
_Except he says he’s gonna die tomorrow._  
  
The thought wiped the smile off his face, but luckily Nadia didn’t notice—she was glancing back at the car again, as if to get another glimpse at the tragic virgin inside. It was a stupid thought to have right now anyway; there nothing he could do about it right now outside of making sure Cas’s last night was a good one. And hey, it wasn’t like this whole “last night on Earth” thing was set in stone, right? Who’s to say they wouldn’t pull something out of their asses at the last minute and come out on top anyway? _With a GED and a can-do attitude..._ Whatever. _Stupid_ thought to have right now. Better just focus on closing this deal.  
  
“So what’ll _you_ do while Cas gets to ‘live’?” Nadia asked, “Sit it out or ‘live’ with us?”  
  
“Would love to join the fun if he can handle it,” said Dean with a shrug, “But probably I’ll just hang back and supervise.”  
  
“Well which is it, honey? ‘Supervising’ don’t cost the same.”  
  
“Just round up; I can’t plan this whole thing out ahead of time with that freakin’ wild card.”  
  
“Well, can’t argue with _that_ attitude...”  
  
Over the next few minutes they hashed out what details they could and settled on a figure that made Dean grateful he’d had the foresight to hit up a couple of ATMs on the way downtown. It wasn’t gonna be cheap, but he hadn’t expected it to be and besides, Nadia seemed pretty chill about any potential weirdness on the horizon, just the kind of gentle touch you wanted for this kind of thing. Once everything was settled they went back to the car to get Cas, the three of them walked the two blocks to her place, and she ushered them into the living room of her small apartment.

The room had a purple futon—set up couch-style for the moment, though judging by the wear on the carpet it got flattened into bed position regularly—and a single faux-leather-padded dining chair that smelled faintly of Clorox. That was pretty much it for furniture in this room if you didn’t count stuff like the trash can, TV trays, and milk crates. A dim floor lamp was the sole light source. Reflexively mapping out the floorplan’s possible alternate exits in his head, Dean noted the door to the probably-bathroom and the pastel divider hiding the probably-kitchen-nook that would have the place’s only window, assuming it got any at all.  
  
“So...” he said, not seeing anything else worth analyzing. Before he could add anything of substance to that, he was interrupted by the opening bars of “Sweet Child of Mine.” A cellphone ringtone. Nadia’s, unless either he’d drunkenly changed his and forgot or Cas was secretly a lot cooler than he let on. Dean couldn’t help but feel like this validated the good feeling he’d had about her from the start.  
  
“Crap,” she said, “Hold on.”  
  
She fished her phone out of her purse and glanced at the caller id, about to hang up, only to do a double-take and curse under her breath when she saw the name.  
  
“I _really_ gotta take this,” she said apologetically, already halfway to the bathroom, “You boys just stay out here and get comfy, okay? I _swear_ I’ll only be a couple minutes.”  
  
Once she was gone, Dean said, “Well?”  
  
“What?” said Cas.  
  
“The _prostitute_ just told you to ‘get comfy.’ What do you think that means, Cas?” Who was he kidding? Like Cas would know. “By ‘comfy’ she meant ‘naked,’ okay?”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Pretty sure.”  
  
“That would seem to imply you’re not certain.”  
  
“Well if I’m wrong I still don’t think she’d kick us out for it.”  
  
“Very well.”  
  
Cas shed his trenchcoat and suit jacket and fumbled with his tie. And fumbled with his tie. And fumbled with his tie some more.  
  
“Geeze, Cas, it’s not rocket surgery.”  
  
“I don’t know what that means,” Cas grumbled, still struggling.  
  
“Do you need some help?”  
  
Cas went still, then asked, “Are you actually offering, or merely mocking me?”  
  
“Mocking, mostly,” Dean admitted, “But if you’re seriously asking...” He drew close and gently loosened the knot at Cas’s throat until he got enough slack to pull it over his head. “There. See? Easy as pie.”  
  
Cas mumbled a vague gratitude and bowed his head to examine his shirt buttons, one hand hesitantly reaching for a middle one. Instead of pushing the button through the hole like a normal person, he tugged at the fabric, trying to shimmy the hole over the button but yanking too hard to accomplish much. Dean repressed a laugh. What was he _doing?_ You’d think he’d never... Oh.  
  
Understanding dawned, and Dean reached for Cas’s top button.  
  
“You’ve never done this before, have you? Taken these clothes off, I mean.” He undid the buttons as fast as he could manage, but his fingers felt as clumsy as Cas’s all of a sudden and the process took an awkwardly long moment.  
  
“I’ve never had cause to.”  
  
“Well,” said Dean, finishing the last button and tugging one sleeve down playfully, “Guess there really is a first time for everything. You’re on your own for the rest, by the way. It’s not _that_ hard.”  
  
Cas pulled his arm loose from the sleeve Dean got started for him, let the shirt slip from the other arm to the floor, and then heaved a heavy sigh, gazing down at the rest of his attire.  
  
He shuffled out of his shoes without bothering to untie them, pulled off his socks, somehow managed to figure out the belt without assistance, and—after a few seconds of fumbling—unzipped and dropped his pants. That’s when Dean saw it.

“ _What_ the...” Dean snorted once, then busted out laughing.  
  
“What?” said Cas, brow furrowed. Dean continued laughing. Cas put his hands on his hips. Dean hugged his stomach and wheezed for air--he was laughing so hard it _hurt_.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, “I just was _not_ expecting...” Still shaking with barely-contained chuckles, Dean straightened up and gestured at the source of his amusement:  
  
It was lacey. It was stringy. It was pink. Hell, it was pink in a proud, neon shade that Barbie would think was a bit much. It had a cute little bow on the front.  
  
Cas was wearing a goddamn thong.  
  
“Just...” Dean’s voice cracked as he failed to repress a fresh bout of giggles.  
  
“ _What?_ ” Cas demanded.  
  
“Just... _why?_ ” Dean managed to get out, again indicating the panties.  
  
“Why what?”  
  
“Why _that?_ ”  
  
“Are you referring to the undergarment?”  
  
“ _Yes_ , dammit,” said Dean, snorting again. He was just starting to come down, but he kept his eyes on Cas’s face, knowing one look at “the undergarment” would send him back over the edge. Then again, the complete and utter confusion creasing Cas’s features wasn’t the most sobering sight either.  
  
“Is it not customary to wear something additional underneath the trousers?”  
  
“There’s nothing ‘customary’ about _that_ thing. Where the hell did you even get it?”  
  
The moment the words left his mouth Dean realized what a stupid question that was. Where else would Cas “get” anything he wore? It wasn't like the guy was taking the odd weekend trip to the mall to change up his look. Hell, he’d just pointed it out himself a minute ago: Cas had _never_ changed clothes, never since...  
  
“Jesus, are those _Jimmy’s?_ ”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Well now he felt like a douche. Poor bastard got a raw enough deal already without Cas casually putting his dirty little secret on display and Dean laughing his ass off at it.  
  
“I still don’t understand what you find so amusing,” said Cas reproachfully.  
  
“Nothin’,” said Dean, “It’s just...” He risked another glance at the pink panties and even the Jimmy guilt wasn’t enough to hold back another chuckle. “It’s an _unusual_ choice of ‘undergarment,’ okay?”  
  
“I see... Is it inconsistent with the ‘backstory’ you invented for me?”  
  
“You heard that?”  
  
“Of course. It’s not as if you were miles away. I don’t understand why that was necessary, by the way.”  
  
“What, you think I should’ve told her the truth?”  
  
“Why was any ‘backstory’ needed at all?”  
  
“We already had this talk, remember? Humans lie? Becoming president? Ringing any bells?”  
  
“I don’t recall the part about bells,” said Cas with a worried frown. Dean snorted once more—loudly—just as Nadia emerged from the bathroom carrying a handful of condoms.  
  
“Okay, _what_ is going out he— _hey_...”  
  
Nadia’s eyebrows shot up and she bit her lip, clearly repressing a giggle fit of her own.  
  
“I’m as surprised as you are,” said Dean.  
  
“Well hey,” said Nadia, grinning like a maniac but valiantly holding back any actual laughter, “Nothing wrong with that, sweetie. Really, they don’t look half bad on you.”  
  
“Thank you,” said Cas solemnly. Dean damn near lost it again, but pulled himself together by forcing himself to stop and evaluate Nadia’s statement. Was she just being nice or was she onto something? The panties fit Cas well enough at least; they didn’t seem to be... squishing anything too much. As far as the pink string lining his crack went... Actually, now he really looked, he couldn’t argue that was a bad look for Cas. It was a pretty nice ass, after all, so might as well let it show.  
  
“So,” said Nadia, “You just about ready for me, then?”  
  
“What are you going to do?” Cas asked. Seeing his face you’d think he was talking to a doctor about major surgery. Made the whole adventure feel a lot more clinical all of a sudden. Hell, Cas looked kind of _scared_ of it. Dean wondered if maybe this idea was really kind of stupid. Well, stupid _er_ than he first thought, anyway. After all, Cas hardly knew the _basics_ of operating a human body—food, sleep, using the bathroom, all of it was stuff he’d never had to bother with. Maybe something this advanced was a bit over his head...

“Well,” said Nadia, nodding at the condoms in her hand, “First I’ll need to get you suited up, then we figured you could just sit back while I, well, if you’ve ever had a lapdance before it’ll be like that, but more like you wanted it to be.” She winked.  
  
“Yeah, like _he’s_ had a lapdance,” Dean muttered. Cas continued to stare them down with that _“Give it to me straight, doc.”_ trepidation. Clapping him on the shoulder, Dean said, “It’ll be _fun_ , Cas. I promise.”  
  
He looked unconvinced.  
  
“Here, would it help if I did it to him first?” Nadia asked, pointing to Dean, “Y’know, you could watch, get the general idea?”  
  
Cas gave Dean a questioning look.  
  
“Hey,” said Dean with a shrug, “If the price tag we settled on’s already covering it anyway...” Nadia nodded. “Then I’m up for it. You think it’ll help you?”  
  
Cas nodded slowly.  
  
“Well, alright, then.” Dean wasn’t into being watched, but it wasn’t like he was gonna turn down sex he’d already paid for, and, if this really was what Cas needed to convince him this particular human activity was completely worth the trouble of navigating your own shirt buttons, so be it.  
  
At Nadia’s instruction Cas took a seat on the futon while Dean settled into the dining chair, which they positioned perpendicular to the futon, giving Cas a profile view. As he slid off his jeans and boxers, Dean eyed the condoms in Nadia’s hand. Couple of different brands and unless he was mistaken a couple of different _colors_ , but other than that cute little flourish nothing exotic in there, just insurance against the picky types. Once he was situated she presented him the assortment and he half-expected her to quote that scene from Pretty Woman. Instead she simply asked, “Any preference?”  
  
“Surprise me.”  
  
She nodded, picked one, tucked it in her bra, and deposited the rest of the pile on the closest of her TV trays. Dean noticed a mostly-empty bottle of lube sitting there, how it’d be in perfect grabbing distance once Nadia got him all “suited up” and ready for her.  
  
“Well then,” said Nadia, trailing an acrylic nail along Dean’s collarbone to hook a finger under the collar of his shirt, “You ready?”  
  
Dean grinned.  
  
“Born ready.”  
  
Nadia giggled, then looked over to Cas where he was tensely slouched on the futon, still wearing nothing but that ridiculous thong.  
  
“What about you, honey?”  
  
“I think so,” he replied hoarsely.  
  
“Alright,” said Nadia, “You need anything, just holler, okay?”  
  
Without another word, she climbed into Dean’s lap, straddling the chair and wiggling—a tad theatrically—into a more comfortable position. Even though everything of Dean’s from the waist down was in a wrinkled pile around his shoes, he still had both his shirts on. Nadia toyed with a sleeve of the open button-down, tugging it down a few inches. A couple wires crossed in Dean’s brain and he didn’t know whether to find it sexy or funny: He’d just played the same game with Cas a minute ago. Wondering if he’d noticed, he glanced over at Cas to find him watching him and Nadia intently, eyes sharp and lips parted, concentrating like there was gonna be a quiz later. Dean looked away awkwardly as he peeled off his shirt, let Nadia pull the tee underneath over his head. She gave a hushed gasp at the sight of his bare chest.  
  
“Whoa...” she whispered.  
  
“Bet you say that to all the boys,” said Dean, meeting her eyes with a smirk.  
  
“No, not _that_.” She rolled her eyes. “Although...” She did a sort of double take. “Wow. Damn.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“But, _this_...” She laid her hand on his arm in a peculiar way and at last Dean realized what caught her attention. For a moment there he forgot he had the damn thing.  
  
A glance in Cas’s direction revealed him staring at the floor guiltily, shoulders hunched as if he was afraid Nadia might notice him and spontaneously identify the handprint as his. Possibly sensing the awkwardness, Nadia snatched her hand back, saying, “Ohmygosh, I’m sorry. You probably get that every time you take your shirt off. Gotta be sick of it by now, huh?”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.”

“Is it a birthmark, or did something, like, happen?” Nadia’s freckled cheeks colored. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it unless you wanna, we can just...”  
  
“Well,” said Dean, “If you really wanna know...” He looked back to Cas, savoring that flash of panicked confusion, as if he would really launch into _that_ entire saga, right here and now. He cheekily concluded, “I fell on a hand-shaped stove when I was a kid. It was terrible.”  
  
“That’s _horrib_ —wait, what?”  
  
Dean grinned as Nadia took a second to parse that one. Her nose crinkled and her shoulders shook with a flustered giggle.  
  
“Now _why_ would you say a thing like that?”  
  
“Because that’s how you become president,” Cas helpfully piped up from the futon.  
  
Dean lost it again, laughing so hard he had to grab the side of the chair for support. Nadia was pretty confused but Dean’s hysterics were so infectious she ended up having a giggle fit of her own anyway. Even Cas wore a bashful smile he clearly couldn’t repress. Dean found it a strangely sweet sight to catch his breath to.  
  
“We good now?” Nadia asked once she’d come down herself.  
  
“This is nice.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“What?” Dean shook himself a little. “Nothin.’ Uh. Yeah, it’s a birthmark.”  
  
“That’s neat.”  
  
She laid her hand on it again, then trailed her fingertips up over his shoulder toward his neck, ending in caress that tilted his chin up so their eyes met.  
  
“You kiss on the mouth?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
They did.  
  
The flow was quick and easy from kissing to Frenching to heavy petting, and before long Dean was helping Nadia out of her top, breathing in her scent as he ran a thumb over one of the nipples hardening beneath the lacey fabric of her bra. She reached down between them to help him along in a way he _really_ didn’t think he needed. To think he’d thought it might be difficult with— _Cas!_ He’d gotten so caught up in the moment he’d almost forgotten their audience. He looked his way to find him staring just as intently as before, that same memorizing-every-second not-even-gonna-blink look that... was starting to put Dean off a bit.  
  
“C’mon...” Nadia muttered, her ministrations becoming more insistent.  
  
Right. Focus. They were supposed to show Cas how _fun_ this was, not make it look awkward and uncomfortable. He turned his eyes back to Nadia, though he swore he still felt the angel’s gaze burning his skin. Still, with one of Nadia’s hands wrapped around him and the other toying with his nipples he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t halfway there. He could go the distance. Cas’s continued to stare didn’t make it easy, but this wasn’t Little Dean’s first rodeo either and, slowly but surely, he rose to the occasion, even though Big Dean couldn’t stop himself stealing periodic looks at the futon.  
  
Cas’s intent, glassy gaze had him worried at first that maybe this kind of thing really was over his head, but an absent-minded glance at those panties proved him wrong: A bulge had formed, a tiny pink tent trying to get bigger. The thong had looked like an okay fit before, but now it was definitely too tight. Dean thought he heard a hitch in Cas’s breath, wondered if the thong might be hurting him by now, but his eyes remained glued to Cas’s crotch. Something about the sight of his boner straining against its cage of pink lace was mesmerizing, something about the stretch of the delicate fabric, the tightness...  
  
“Oh _there_ we go,” Nadia remarked, suddenly finding Dean at full attention. She glanced up, following Dean’s eyeline to watch Cas carefully free his tip from the lacey trap. He didn’t bother pushing the panties down at all, simply laid his hardening length against his stomach, so his penis stuck out of the top and formed what Dean’s mind unfortunately decided was a rather ridiculous picture of an upside-down pink umbrella. Stupid a thought as that was, and hard as it was to un-see it now, the sight was still strangely hypnotic.

“See?” said Nadia to Cas, indicating Dean’s now insistent hardness, “Told you they look good on you.”  
  
Cas offered nothing but a wide-eyed stare in response.  
  
Nadia climbed out of Dean’s lap, standing and slipping her skirt off. Dean tore his eyes from Cas to see she had nothing underneath—not even hair—so now she was down to just bra and boots. It was a good look on her. After giving him a second to appreciate it, she knelt in front of the chair and took him in her hands, probably making extra sure he was up and staying up before she tried putting the rubber on, he figured. His eyes wandered back to Cas to see if he was still enjoying the show, and he found his gaze glued once more to the angel. He _was_ enjoying it, but the way he did it...  
  
Apparently Cas wasn’t the kind to just grab on and start yanking. Instead he gently trailed his fingertips— _just_ his fingertips, like he was afraid to use anything but the lightest touch—up and down his shaft, lightly rubbing in a circular motion all along the length. He’d start at the base, down at the part still covered by the thong, and when he was there he wouldn’t even reach inside the panties, instead just rubbing himself through them. Then he’d make his way slowly up to the tip, the circling motion accelerating until his fingers brushed the head, and then he’d stop, sometimes with a breathy little gasp, as if he’d startled himself. He’d be still a moment—Catching his breath?—and then start all over again at the base. It was such a weird way to go about it Dean couldn’t stop staring, especially at the start of each cycle. The way he’d rub at himself through the front of his panties, almost the way a _girl_ would touch herself... Every time Cas’s fingers came to that spot Dean twitched into Nadia’s touch. _Damn_. It wasn’t like he’d never thought of seeing Cas like this before, but actually seeing it, the details he never would’ve known to picture, was doing more to him than his own imagination ever managed.  
  
Nadia must’ve picked up on Cas’s rhythm and what it was doing to Dean, because the next time Cas’s fingers found that spot just below the cute little bow Dean suddenly felt her mouth on him and frankly he was a bit surprised the show didn’t hit its finale right then and there. He moaned involuntarily, the noise visibly startling Cas. The sight of the angel sitting there frozen a couple seconds—fingertips still firmly planted in the fabric of his panties and eyes slightly guilty—was almost enough to make Dean do it again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. He usually wasn’t any more vocal than he meant to be for this stuff.  
  
Nadia pulled back and Dean looked down to find himself “suited up” and her smiling up at him.  
  
“Nice,” he said. Gotta love the classic condom trick.  
  
“I try,” she said, bouncing up and climbing back into his lap. She unhooked her bra and tossed it to the ground before grabbing the lube and squirting some into her hands. She was efficient, business-like, about applying it to his length. Smart. Not like a handjob would do much for him now the rubber was on, so might as well get this part done fast and move on. Soon enough she took hold of him, lifted herself up, and carefully guided him into her. He hadn’t noticed until now, but the condom she picked out was a good fit, thin and snug. Felt almost nude.  
  
She took a moment to situate herself, bracing one foot on a nearby milk crate to get herself some traction, and then her hands were on his shoulders and her tits were in his face and she was moving and this was _awesome_. For a little bit he just let himself enjoy the moment, letting one hand slide around to cup her ass, but, again remembering he and Nadia were ostensibly educating Cas here he once more turned his attention to the futon.

Cas had picked up some speed in the meantime and was starting to get his whole hand in on the action instead of just the fingertips. He still kept up that same route though: Rub like a girl, then the rest of the way up, then back to the base... He caught Dean’s eye and smiled a sort of questioning half-smile, as if unsure about the proper procedure in this particular situation.  
  
Dean grinned back, raising his eyebrows as if to say, _“See? Fun!”_ Cas didn’t look like he’d argue that point right now. And he sure as hell didn’t look scared anymore. Mission accomplished. Reassured, Dean returned his attention to Nadia. He slipped a hand between them and his fingers instinctively found where to rub, settled into a good rhythm.  
  
“Mmm...” Nadia’s reaction sounded like a mix of honest surprise and exaggerated appreciation. “And they say chivalry is dead.”  
  
Seemed “chivalry” had its benefits: Her tempo and enthusiasm increased and before long Dean could feel himself nearing the finish line. He rubbed her harder as he got closer and she responded with more gratitude than she could possibly really feel: sighing, moaning, shuddering, _gasping_. Just when he thought he wouldn’t last much longer, she hit a peak that sounded fake as hell but _felt_ real, sending him over the edge with her. They held onto each other as they rode it out, but once it was over she immediately climbed off him, standing up and leaning against the wall to catch her breath. Dean tried not to shiver as he became abruptly aware of the sensation of sweat cooling all over his body, except for where it made his ass stick to the chair.  
  
“So,” he said, looking to Cas, “Think you’re ready to give that a tr—oh.” He chuckled. “Dude, you were supposed to wait.”  
  
Cas’s stomach was splattered with white, but he looked more satisfied than embarrassed about it.  
  
“Oh honey,” said Nadia, “Well, you’re gonna wanna clean that up. Here, I’ve got some wipes.” She peeled herself from the wall and bustled into the bathroom. While her back was turned, Dean spotted a problem: Cas’s cum had started _glowing_. It wasn’t very bright—like a glow stick near the end of its life—but it was noticeable, and maybe it was his imagination, but it looked like it was getting brighter.  
  
“Son of a bitch...” Dean muttered, standing and pulling up his jeans and boxers in one fluid motion. He tossed his condom in the trash, zipped up with a grunt, and headed the way Nadia had, planning to block the doorway first and come up with excuses later. He ducked into the bathroom to find her digging one of those little travel-sized packets of baby wipes out of her purse.  
  
“Oh! Hey there...” she said awkwardly, “What do you need?”  
  
“Uh...”  
  
Before Dean could think of a good answer, he was interrupted for the second time that night by Slash’s guitar. _That_ was gonna be stuck in his head all night now. Nadia reflexively picked up her phone and checked the caller id.  
  
“God _damn_ it...”  
  
Judging from her reaction, it was the same super-important caller who’d waylaid her earlier.  
  
“Hey,” said Dean, reaching for the packet, “If you need to get that, I could just...”  
  
“Huh? Oh yeah, great, thanks.”  
  
Dean took the wipes and slipped out of the bathroom as Nadia answered her phone, shutting the door behind him. He returned to find Cas right where he’d left him, sperm now bright as an incandescent lightbulb.  
  
“ _Dude!_ ” Dean whispered, yanking a wipe from the packet, “What the actual hell?”  
  
Frowning at the radioactive-looking mess on his stomach, Cas said, “I take it this is somehow abnormal?”  
  
Dean knelt down next to the futon and started mopping up the mess with the wipe.

“Yeah. It’s not supposed to turn into a freaking night light— _Jesus!_ ” The wipe was freaking _dissolving_ in Cas’s sperm, melting into a goopy puddle with a faint sizzling noise. Dean reflexively jerked his hand back and checked for any corrosive residue. “Is this _normal_ for angels?”  
  
“I...” Cas gingerly sat up straighter, concern creasing his features, “I don’t know. I think—careful!”  
  
Dean had pulled out a fresh wipe and reached for the mess again. He hadn’t been thinking. He’d just seen the jizz-wipe-goop slide down toward Cas’s panties and wanted to... save them? Yeah, here’s to hoping Cas didn’t ask him to explain _that_... Luckily, it looked like this bit of misplaced heroics wouldn’t cost him his hand: The glow had faded, and the new wipe didn’t dissolve like the other had. Whatever the hell had been going on with Cas’s jizz must’ve been only temporary. Dean and Cas let out twin sighs of relief and Dean finished cleaning him up. It didn’t occur to him until he was dumping a soggy wad of wipes in the trash to find it weird that _he_ was the one doing the cleanup. He pulled one more wipe from the packet to clean off his hands. In his head Axl Rose sang, _“Where do we go? Where do we go now?”_ Hands clean, he looked back to Cas—just an Angel of the Freaking Lord lounging around some hooker’s place in nothing but a pink thong—and had to grin at the surrealism of it all.  
  
“Dean,” said Cas in his patented Serious Voice as Dean collected his shirts from the floor and re-dressed the rest of the way.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Please understand I didn’t realize I could be putting her in danger when...”  
  
“Yeah,” said Dean, sobering at the realization, “Probably a good thing that stuff didn’t end up inside anyone...”  
  
“All cleaned up in here?”  
  
Nadia was back from the bathroom. Smiling at Cas, she said, “Now don’t you get embarrassed, okay? Your buddy’s paying enough that it’s _totally_ fine for you to just sit tight and have a drink while we wait ‘til you’re ready again, and _then_ we can—”  
  
“ _No_ ,” said Dean and Cas in unison.  
  
“Whoa, what?”  
  
“I mean, um,” said Dean, “Cas and I talked it over just now, and he’s just not ready yet, y’know?”  
  
“Okay...” said Nadia as Cas hastily re-dressed—too hurried and flustered to even _try_ buttoning anything. Catching Dean’s eye while Cas was bent over retrieving his tie, she mouthed, _“Gay?”_  
  
Sure, why not? Dean gave a sort of nod-shrug, as if to say, _“I dunno, probably.”_ Might be kind of hard to tell, after all, what with all the hypothetical childhood repression to factor in.  
  
_“Good luck,”_ Nadia mouthed in response.  
  
Cas was suddenly halfway out the door and Dean quickly said, “Well anyway, thanks; you’ve been great. Keep the change.” Cas was freaking _gone_. Just where the hell did he think he was going without him? “I’m sure Cas would say thanks too, if he wasn’t such a mess.”  
  
Nadia chuckled.  
  
“Any time, boys.”  
  
Once he left Nadia’s apartment Dean spotted Cas leaning against a wall a couple of yards away, arms crossed over his stomach.  
  
“Cas?” Dean walked over to him.  
  
“I... ‘panicked’ I believe is the appropriate word. I didn’t know what questions she would ask, nor the appropriate lies to respond with.”  
  
“Fair enough, I guess.” Looking Cas over, Dean realized he really was a mess right now: Shirt hanging open, tie thrown over his shoulder, and a flash of pink drew the eye straight to his crotch. “Christ’s sake...”  
  
Dean hooked his fingers into the waist of Cas’s pants and yanked him close enough to do up his button, zipper, and belt for him. Cas didn’t protest, simply watched Dean’s face as he forced his fingers to complete their awkward task without shaking. He’d brought Cas close enough to smell him, not that that was a foreign experience with his ongoing failure to grasp the concept of personal space. He wondered for the first time if all he was really catching was a lingering whiff of Jimmy’s cologne, preserved by the same celestial weirdness that kept his clothes good as new month after month. Whatever it was, it smelled nice.

He started to step back once Cas’s pants were resituated, but the angel grabbed his hand.  
  
“Could you...?” Cas guided Dean’s hand to his top shirt button. Right. Duh. Letting Cas walk around with his shirt hanging open wouldn’t be as scandalous as the pants zipper, but it’d still be _weird_.  
  
“Sure,” said Dean, taking the button with the hand Cas had grabbed and reaching for the hole side of the shirt with his other hand. Cas’s hand lingered on his a touch longer than it needed to before sliding away. Was it really warm outside all of a sudden?  
  
Once he was done with the shirt he went ahead and retied Cas’s tie as well. Most guys couldn’t tie a tie on another guy without doing the whole “First I’ll get it on me, then slip it off and put it on you.” routine but Dean had had enough practice with Sam growing up: Picture days, the odd school dance, periodic funerals for hunters who’d had _just_ enough family left to keep you from just throwing them on the pyre and calling it a day. Come to think of it, you’d think a smart kid like Sammy could’ve figured out a half-Windsor on his own given so many opportunities, but Dean couldn’t remember a single time he’d done it for himself growing up. Obviously he must have learned at _some_ point; it wasn't like he ever needed help nowadays when they pretended to be suits while working a case... not that that was going to happen anymore. He tried to shake the thought out of his head as he let go of Cas’s tie, turned, and headed back toward where they’d left the car.  
  
“Is something wrong?” Cas asked, falling into step beside him and adjusting the hang of his jacket and coat.  
  
Instead of answering the question, Dean said, “So much for you losing your v-card, huh?”  
  
“My...?” It took Cas a couple of seconds, but he worked that one out on his own. “Dean, I... Never before have I...” Cas couldn’t find the right words, but Dean knew what he meant: He’d been too worried about Nadia walking in and seeing Cas’s magic jizz to think about it at the time, but Cas had clearly been just as surprised as he was. About what his own freaking cum looked like. That meant that earlier in the evening when he’d said he’d “never had occasion” he didn’t just mean “occasion” with someone else, he meant _at all_.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” said Dean, “I mean, I _guess_ if you wanted to count that...”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?”  
  
“Because you didn’t even get to... actually, y’know what? Forget it. You had fun, right?”  
  
“Yes,” Cas mumbled.  
  
“And you don’t regret it?”  
  
“...I don’t.”  
  
“Then sure, it counts. Hell, you could say it was a better first time than a lot of _humans_ get.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really.”  
  
Cas smiled shyly.  
  
“In that case, thank you. I see now it has been a blessing to be with you for my last night on Earth.”  
  
Dean flinched at the reminder, then forced himself to smile.  
  
“Hey,” he said, “Let’s not schedule the funeral yet, okay? We don’t _know_ how it’s gonna go down tomorrow. You might come out just fine.”  
  
Cas’s smile turned a little sad, a little strained. He clearly didn’t share Dean’s optimism.  
  
“Regardless, thank you.”  
  
_Where do we go? Where do we go now?_  
  
They finally reached the Impala and climbed inside, Dean’s heart aching with the need to say something that would put a sincere smile back on that face. He couldn’t think of a damn thing, though, so instead he went with, “Well happy birthday, Cas.”  
  
“You can’t possibly have known, but today _does_ happen to be the anniversary of my creation, according to your calendar.”  
  
“What? Are you freaking serious?”  
  
Cas responded with a lopsided grin. Dean snickered.  
  
“Well played, Mister President.”  
  
He jammed the key in the ignition and the engine warmed back to life.  
  
_Where do we go?_


End file.
